I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter, and I know I haven't kept up with this story enough but this is all that I am happy with right now.

Logan

I woke early, unusual for me but not unexpected after the revelations of the night before. Pulling on a white tee but not bothering to change into a new pair of jeans, I stumbled out into the living room. Marie was already up. She lay curled up on the grey plaid sofa, her head resting on the arm closest to me so that I could not see her expression. Walking into the kitchen I asked, "Breakfast?"

"Ugh. No," she replied, sitting up to look at me over the back of the couch, the two white strands of her hair framing her face.

"Y'okay?"

"Morning sickness," she answered, moaning slightly.

I remembered suddenly Marie vomiting after breakfast only days before. "Oh," was my only response. She laughed, tipping her head back like she used to, as if to help the joy spill out more freely. I smiled to hear the sound.

When she turned down lunch as well, however, I began to worry.

"Apples?" I asked her, throwing one in the air.

"No."

I opened the fridge to explore other options. "Peanut butter sandwich?" I called over my shoulder.

"No."

"Fish?" I glanced at her over my shoulder.

She fake gagged. "Don't you dare."

"A burger? A steak? A potato?"

"No. No. No," she replied.

"Anything at all sound good?" I asked, leaning my elbows on the counter that stood between us.

She arched herself dramatically over the back of the couch. "A pickle?" she finally offered.

I scoured the refrigerator and then banged cabinet doors in my search but finally turned back empty handed. She sighed.

"I'll be back," I stated, determined to fulfill her one desire. Ignoring her feeble protest, I strode out of the house and drove into the nearest town, a good hour and a half away. Parking the station wagon, I realized that perhaps I should have had a longer list than pickles. Oh well.

"May I help you?" the blue-clad elderly lady at the front of the store asked. I seized the opportunity.

"My –um –friend," I began, "She's having a baby and asked me to pick up some things for her, but I'm not sure what I should get."

The lady smiled politely as if waiting for more. I shifted my weight, wondering what else I was supposed to say.

"What exactly are you looking for?" she asked.

"Everything she might need," I replied.

Marie

I knew it took a long time to get into town, so I settled in with a history book titled "Left at the Wall" about the items left at the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial. My other book, the one with the traumatized heroine was not to be read when Logan was absent. It got my fears churning. Even without the book, once I realized four hours had passed I began to wonder what had happened to Logan, or at least what besides pickles had struck his fancy. So it was with pleasure that I turned at the sound of the door opening. Pleasure that quickly turned to surprise. Logan was weighed down with more bags and packages than even his strength could handle gracefully. He dropped them and headed out the door.

"More!" I asked in astonishment. He only grunted.

Always one for presents, I eagerly seated myself among the mountain of bags and packages and began to explore. With the first item I gigged. The second caused me to laugh aloud. By the time Logan reentered the house, I had broken into peals of laughter and lay on the floor in the midst of the very thoughtful and not very useful purchases.

Diapers. Wipes. Formula. Bottles. Onesies. A changing pad. A diaper bag. A nursing pillow. Burping rags. A baby monitor. The tiniest socks and shoes. Even swimming diapers in the middle of the mountains.

Logan watched me with puzzled hurt. Fearful of injuring his pride, I managed to get control of myself. Then, I sat up and spotted the boxed crib that Logan held and lost it again.

"Logan, you-" I cracked up. "I'm s-" I couldn't breathe. "You do know that it takes nine months to have a baby, right?" I finally managed.

He leaned the box against the open door, his expression thoughtful rather than hurt.

Logan

When I reentered the cabin, Marie lay amid all the chaos with her auburn and white hair spread around her like a halo. Her laughter echoed in the small but open space. What had I done? Whatever it was, I felt glad to have done it. The sound of her joy filled me. It softened her expression and eased the solemn knowing in her eyes. Finally she managed to tell me that I had bought things for a baby not for a pregnant woman. Nine months, she said, nine months to make a baby. Could it be possible that -? I leaned the crib against the wall and stood before her.

"Marie," I started, unsure of how to ask, "Could this be my child you carry?"

Her laughter disappeared and she became solemn again. The corner of her mouth twisted into a sad smile, a mockery of the expression she wore before my interruption. "No, Logan," she whispered. "I wish I could say there was a chance, but I know with certainty that this is not your child."

I sat down hard, having lost the buoy of hope.

Marie

I watched in sadness as his expression crumpled. The muscles in Logan's jaw rippled in tension and his breathing became heavy. I braced myself for his swift anger, but instead noticed the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. I sighed and touched his knee. I was so sorry for crushing him like that, and was about to say so when he fell forward so that he landed face down in my lap, crying.

"Logan, Logan, no," I begged. "Please don't." The man who served as my stronghold, my defender fell apart before my eyes. I stroked his back with my right hand and buried my left in his thick, dark hair.

It took him a long time to recover and through it all he never put words to his sadness. I knew about sorrow too deep for words. I had just never imagined that he joined me in it.

Finally, Logan sat up, jerking his arm across his face in disgust at his emotional display. "Weak," he growled to himself.

"No," I insisted. "You're stronger than I ever could have hoped."